


The Domestic Touch

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Making Love, Making Out, Morning Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top John, Top John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 19:32:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6920170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John loves the way his life has woven with Sherlock's. He loves how comfortable they are. And he loves Sherlock in his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Domestic Touch

It was strange, really, how one’s life began to wrap around another’s. How things started off a bit cautious, closed doors and ‘do you like…?’, folding into wandering about the flat naked and silently setting out the perfect cuppa.

John didn’t always stop and think about such things, but as he shaved while watching Sherlock finish setting his curls in another part of the mirror, he couldn’t help but realize how satisfied he was.

“You’re thinking,” said Sherlock, that soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “About me.”

“About us,” corrected John, putting down the razor and leaning down to rinse. As he came back up from the sink, Sherlock leaned down and kissed his cheek.

Now it was John’s turn to smile.

He leaned up and kissed Sherlock, running fingers just barely through still damp curls, earning a grumble in the process. “I’ll make breakfast.”

Sherlock nodded and looked back to the mirror, futzing with his hair and trying to put it back into place.

John stretched as he walked into the kitchen, rubbing his shoulder subconsciously; he’d slept on it wrong the night before. He hummed to himself as he went about cooking, turning on the kettle in the process.

Sherlock came out a few moments later and finished making the tea. Before long they were sitting at the table, John with his newspaper, Sherlock skimming a few websites, checking his email.

“No good cases,” griped Sherlock, typing out a hasty email response to one.

“Something will come along,” said John, gathering the dishes and putting them in the sink.

Sherlock stepped behind him and put his hands on John’s waist, burying his nose in his hair.

John carefully turned in his grip. “Bored already?”

“It’s been weeks!”

“It’s been two days.” John leaned in and kissed him. “I’m off today.”

“Good.” Sherlock kissed him back, still huffy.

John smiled against his lips and carefully walked him backwards until they were out of the kitchen. A little more maneuvering and Sherlock sat heavily in his chair, John following him down to kneel over his lap.

“I know you’re not really bored,” John said, hands on Sherlock’s shoulders.

A smiled played along Sherlock’s lips. “And I know that you know.”

John laughed and kissed him again, slow, languorous, licking into his mouth and taking his time. Sherlock’s hands rest on his back, just drinking him in, even as interest stirred between them.

Sometimes things were fast, or rough. This morning wasn’t one of those times. John rocked his hips. Sherlock moaned, head falling back so that he could nibble at that amazing column of throat. John could devour him, driven on by soft cries, by the way Sherlock’s hips lifted and sought friction.

“Bed,” murmured John, pulling away, making Sherlock whine with the loss. But he followed John docilely enough. John kissed him again as he tugged him into bed, pushing the robe off his shoulders.

They quickly stripped one another, both eager, both needing the touch of bare skin. Sherlock ran a hand down John’s chest. John tangled his hands in Sherlock’s hair again, disturbing his curls. They went back to kisses, as if they could drown in the touch of each other’s lips.

John kept things slow, teasing, light. Hot hands on Sherlock’s cool skin. He breathed in the fresh-showered scent of his lover, hitching a leg up, rocking against him. He loved to see Sherlock falling apart, dark curls scattered on the pillow, eyes wide with wonder or squeezed tight as he tried to contain himself.

Reaching over, John grabbed the lube from the bedside table, kissing Sherlock again as he slicked his fingers and pressed them inside. Sherlock gasped and clung to him, hands skidding along his back.

“More, John,” Sherlock muttered, spreading himself open for him. John nibbled his shoulder and kept up the steady pace, knowing how it would drive Sherlock mad.

A keening whimper escaped Sherlock’s mouth only a few minutes later, as loud and obvious as any verbal demand. John moved between his thighs, kissing Sherlock’s chest and cupping his cheek until verdigris eyes met his own.

“I’ve got you,” promised John, the same thing he always said.

Sherlock smiled up at him, that same brilliant smile he only gave John here, in the safety of their bed.

Taking himself in hand, John guided his cock to Sherlock’s entrance. Sherlock canted his hips to give him better access. John’s eyes slipped closed as he pressed in, a low huff his only expression of pleasure. Sherlock held his biceps, grounding him, clinging to him.

Finally, John opened his eyes again. He nearly closed them again at the look on Sherlock’s face. Love. Adoration. All those things Sherlock could never express out loud, written like a novel on his face. Or perhaps a silent poem. John kissed him again and started to move.

While John was generally quiet in bed, Sherlock was anything but. He moaned and sighed, murmuring wordless exhortations to his lover. John moved steadily, caging him in his arms, the pleasure between them building slowly.

John wrapped a hand around Sherlock’s cock, making Sherlock arch against him. He ran a thumb over the damp head, dragging it through the pre-come.

With a grunt of effort, John rolled them over so Sherlock was on top, riding John, head falling back as John stroked his cock.

“Beautiful,” whispered John, awestruck that this man would allow him into his bed, his life, the way he had.

A wicked smile played across Sherlock’s face as he brought his head down again and met John’s hungry gaze. He ground down against John, moving his hips just so.

Now it became a playful game of who would come first, Sherlock expertly shifting his hips, John twisting his wrist as it slid up and down the shaft.

It was a game that Sherlock, sensitive as he was, would always lose. John watched him stiffen, mouth falling open as he cried out and came, seed mixing with sweat on John’s chest.

John rolled them back over and plowed hard into Sherlock, peppering him with kisses as he chased his own orgasm, finally coming with barely more than a satisfied sigh.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s neck. “We need another shower,” he said, nibbling on John’s ear.

“Good thing we have all day.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to beltainefaire for the beta
> 
> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
